


We Built This City

by sebviathan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homelessness, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Or Is It?, Runaway AU, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:14:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You start getting more comfortable with all of this once you stop thinking of homelessness as a financial cripple and start thinking of it as just a different lifestyle," is what Lucifer tells him. And he's right--he's not worse off this way. It's just different. With Lucifer, in fact, it's better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maydei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/gifts).



([listen to the soundtrack](http://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/we-built-this-city))

* * *

Sam makes sure to leave his note where they would find it. He dreads the idea of a breeze coming through the window and knocking it over to where they wouldn't see it, or the note simply going unnoticed and the reason for his disappearance going unknown.

He at least wants Dean and his dad to know that he had left the house because he  _chose_  to leave, not because he was kidnapped or anything like that. Not that he thinks it'll keep them from looking for him. But at least they'll worry less.

Sam's got his school backpack (the original contents are dumped out on what used to be his bedroom floor) hanging off both shoulders, and inside is another set of clothes, a blanket, a few water bottles, all the portable, non-microwaveable food he could find in the pantry, and all the money he's managed to save up from his job at one of the local fast food places. He realizes he looks like he's hitchhiking, walking his way up the long, empty road to the bus station, but there's no way he's trusting a shady guy in a truck to take him anywhere. Or anyone stupid enough to pick up a hitchhiker, for that matter.

A couple cars honk at him as they pass, but he ignores them, tightens the straps on his backpack, and keeps walking with his eyes facing the horizon.

It's 5:41 am when Sam reaches the bus station. He catalogues that time in his mind and he isn't sure why **—** everything around him just feels important right now, like the greyish color of the sky that means it's probably going to rain, and the pale blue paint peeling off of the outside of the station, and the way the metal of the pole holding up the sign for the station feels under his hand as he touches it to pass it.

Sam's so tall that he figures he must look like an adult, so he can't imagine that any of the people in the station are staring at him.

"One ticket for the first bus, please," he tells the person behind the window, ready to take out all the money he's got.

"First bus to where?"

"Anywhere."

The woman frowns and sighs as she checks, seeming like she's seen far too many people with a "just got to get away" story and is honestly tired of it. And Sam can understand that. Life isn't a movie, and she's not going to ask him why he doesn't care where he's going, and she's not going to say anything to him other than where the first bus today is going and how much the ticket costs. Which is incidentally about a hundred bucks, leaving him with about four hundred, now.

"Next bus leaves at six, s'going to Detroit," she tells him, and Sam nods. He figures it's probably one of the least expected places for him to be, so Dean and Dad will never think to look for him there.

Sam waits on a bench outside for ten minutes watching the sky turn a lighter gray and gripping the metal part of the bench because the cold is kind of comforting, somehow.

When bus number 44 **—** Detroit **—** pulls up, Sam slings his backpack back up over one shoulder and hastens to get on, hoping to at least get a good seat. He's going to be sitting down for several hours until he has to switch buses, anyway. There's two empty seats near the back, so he takes the window seat and sits down. Doesn't seem like many people are on the bus today.

For a long while, Sam just stares out the window and remains mesmerized by the scenery passing by in a relative blur. He doesn't even realize how long he's been sitting and staring until he hears a voice from the aisle of the bus and sees that they aren't anywhere near Lawrence anymore.

"Sorry, what?" he sputters, jerking his head around to the girl who just spoke to him **—** punkish clothes, short, blonde hair, and actually really pretty. She's holding onto the pole next to the row of seats and biting her lip, probably nervous.

"Do you mind if I sit here with you?" she repeats, one edge of her lips quirking up in an awkward grimace. "I was sitting a few seats ahead, but there was an old dude next to me and he started to get handsy **—** "

"Oh **—** yeah, sure, no problem." Sam quickly moves his bag from the aisle seat to the floor and gestures to the newly empty seat next to him. The girl smiles and thanks him, looking relieved.

And seconds later, she's holding out her hand. "I'm Meg."

After the initial awkwardness, Sam shakes her hand and is surprised by her strong grip **—** and he laughs it off. "I'm Sam. And I guess we'll be sitting here together for a while."

With so much time to kill, it's no question that they talk. Sam tells her that he's going to Detroit **—** that city for no reason in particular **—** to get away, and he learns that Meg is going to Chicago for the same reason. They talk about their families and end up agreeing on quite a few things, and Sam almost wishes he had some alcohol to loosen up the flirting.

Sam's really not interested in her more than aesthetically, but he lets her flirt at him if only for the experience. He's running away from home with a backpack of just the essentials, on a bus hours from his family, and getting flirted at by another runaway girl. It's all kind of crazy, in a movie-way. Even though he's already established that this  _isn't_  one.

"Do you ever feel like your life is like a movie?" he ends up asking, leaning his head against the window and watching the other cars. "Like, I dunno **—** the things that happen to you are a story that's just unique and symbolic enough to be filmed and put in theatres?"

She's quiet for a few seconds, probably laughing at him on the inside. And he's prepared to not get any answer at all right when she finally does.

"Well, the whole running away-thing is kind of like that, I guess. Not sure if anyone would want to watch it. I mean, where's the resolution? Movies like this always end with the runaway kid going home. I don't want my life to have all that moral shit in it. Not everyone  _has_  to go home."

Sam smirks and lets out a small laugh of agreement. He figures that he can use that to feel better about this whole thing.  _Not everyone_ has _to go home._

Five hours into the bus ride, they both have to switch buses and head separate ways. It's strange to say goodbye to a stranger you've known for five hours in a crowded Springfield bus station at eleven in the morning, and Sam feels a notable lack of sentimentality **—** but there is a little bit. So he hugs her and wishes her good luck, wherever she ends up going.

It's all part of the experience, Sam figures. He moves onto the next bus feeling like he's been gone for much longer than six hours, like he's grown at least a year's worth.

For the next twelve hours until Detroit, no one else comes along. And Sam thinks it would be kind of anticlimactic if anyone did, so he avoids talking to anyone else and ignores the fact that his reasoning for it probably makes him crazy.

It's not just  _no, talking to strangers on a bus is dangerous and anything and everything could happen to me_ _ **—**_ but instead,  _I've gotten otherworldly advice on a bus already, I can't have anyone else coming along and ruining my real-life narrative._

By the time the bus stops in Detroit, Sam is starving his ass off. Really, if someone was to serve him ass on a plate right now and it was free, he would eat it.

Luckily he doesn't have that option, and is instead presented with a thousand others because downtown Detroit has tons of cheap street vendors. So of course the first thing Sam does is find a hotdog stand (which is actually kind of exciting because he's only ever seen them on TV) and wait patiently in line to order a plain hotdog with mustard. The guy looks at him weird, but Sam expects it so he doesn't care, he just waits for him to finish the hotdog.

When he reaches for his money to pay, though, Sam finds nothing. There's no holes in the fabric of his backpack and the zipper isn't open **—** it's just  _gone_. And so is the ten dollars that was in his pocket.

In an instant, what little sentimentality he has for Meg goes down the drain along with a substantial amount of hope, and Sam storms away from the vendor and still doesn't care that people are staring.  _That fucking bitch stole all of my money!_

* * *

 

He figures he should have listened to that first reasoning for talking to strangers when he saw Meg.

Over seventeen hours without food kind of messes with your mind a bit **—** to the point that you forget about the granola bars in your backpack for a good twenty minutes.

Sam scrambles to undo the zipper, and he forgets that he's been a runaway for less than twenty-four hours when he unwraps the first one and stuffs it in his mouth like a street rat.

 _Is that what I am, already?_  he wonders vaguely and hopelessly, straightening up in the park bench he's sitting on. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He had a few hundred bucks saved up to last him a good while **—** he was supposed to find a crap job somewhere and occasionally pickpocket strangers but only when he needed it, enough so that he could get an apartment and live on his own or something.

He supposes he can't be too surprised, though. When does the runaway teenager ever have a boring story and a smooth ending? He's heard of maybe one person ever who managed to get away from their family for good and actually live it up, and that's in some vague memory where he can't even reach a specific name or place. Maybe he never even heard it in the first place.

Sam is just about to eat a second granola bar when he realizes he should at least save it for later that evening. Just in case. There's probably four hours left until the sun goes down, which means four hours to find somewhere safe to sleep where he doesn't have to worry about getting murdered or raped.

Then again, it's Detroit. He probably always has to worry about getting murdered or raped.

It's really not even that long until he finds one of the homeless kid-corners of the city **—** under a highway bridge, who would've guessed. Resisting that Red Hot Chili Peppers song from getting stuck in his head, and subsequently pushing Dean and his brother's stupid CDs out of his mind, Sam tries to hold himself with confidence while he walks past all the other kids and finds a spot for himself.

They look at him as he passes, of course. How could they not? He's nearly as tall as a doorframe and, unlike most of them, he actually looks  _clean_. Sam just makes sure not to make any eye contact. He's sure that one wrong move and someone'll push him up against a wall with a knife and demand whatever's in his bag **—** luckily, no one does. Probably just too intimidated by his size and the mean look about him.

 _Doing a good job so far,_ then, he thinks sarcastically when he finally slumps down against the concrete wall a good ten feet away from anyone else.

It hasn't even been long since it's gotten dark, but Sam decides to just go ahead and get his blanket out. He's too hungry to move much anymore, and he's in severe need of some kind of a rest while he eats another granola bar and forces himself to sleep.

A few of the others have started small fires in metal bins to keep light and warmth going, and Sam actually smiles to himself **—** he didn't know that happened outside of TV. But it's a weak smile, and when he finds himself really unable to get tired at all, he just sits up and refrains from looking at anyone else and hugs his knees to himself. It must look ridiculous, a guy his size doing that, but it helps his stomach feel better.

He's extremely tempted to just eat the rest of his food and figure shit out in the morning when he spots someone directly approaching him out of the corner of his eye and freezes for a moment, thinking that maybe if he just doesn't acknowledge his presence the guy will go away **—** but then Sam realizes that that makes him seem weak. And scared. And if he's going to stay here, he's going to have to build some kind of reputation. He's not going to let that reputation be someone who's  _scared_.

So Sam looks straight at him and frowns when the guy stops.

"Too hungry to fall asleep, huh?" he asks in a slow, southern drawl that makes him sound less shady than he looks with his dirty blue jacket and hat. Getting the feeling that he might be doing it on purpose to sound more trustworthy, Sam refuses to let his guard down.

"...Yeah."

The guy smiles, but not at all in a malicious or creepy way. Sam still tries not to trust him.

"I can knock you out if you want," he offers. "It's how I got to sleep the first few nights."

And okay, he's trusting him. He can't help it. This guy seems to uphold that southern hospitality vibe even in this place, and Sam doesn't hesitate much before standing up and bending down just enough that their faces are level.

"Yeah, do it."

A quick pulse of pain, and then the feeling of cement under his cheek and being dragged back onto his blanket is all too distant.

* * *

 

Sam wakes up to his neck sore and backpack gone.

Strangely enough, the first thing he thinks of is someone sneaking around him to get it like one would sneak carefully and quietly around a dragon to grab some specific treasure in its nest of gold.

He suddenly wishes that he had brought his copy of  _The Fellowship of the Ring_  with him. And then he remembers that he should be really fucking pissed that someone stole his bag and would have stolen the book if he'd had it. But his hunger is making it kind of difficult to be properly pissed.

So he just sits there for a while, eyelids weighed down by bitterness and weakness, and his knees up to his chest again while he looks around. It's significantly more empty than it was last night **—** most of the other kids are probably out scrounging for food, either begging or stealing.

Would Sam really have to resort to that already? With his backpack of food and money, he originally figured that he'd make it about a week before he had to really start acting like a homeless kid. And now he's really getting hit with the real world. Not to say that he didn't know what the real world was like **—** he just isn't so ready to face it like this.

Mostly, he's just angry. If he had any real strength right now he would be throwing a physical tantrum, maybe even beating the shit out of one of the other kids who are still under the bridge. It makes him angry that anyone would  _dare_  steal from him, and he's not exactly sure why he has that mindset, but it just feels that way. And he's angry that he has already had his dignity lowered.

Sam doesn't want to reduce himself to a beggar, so he supposes his only option is to be a thief.

Nodding his head to himself just slightly as he decides, he stands up and takes his blanket with him, shaking the dirt (and possibly bugs) out of it. With no backpack to put it in anymore, he folds it and rolls it up so that it can fit, though awkwardly, in the large pocket of his hoodie. And he walks out from under the bridge while making sure to make eye contact with no one else.

Detroit streets are busy, even in the morning. If the fact that he just walked out from under a highway bridge isn't enough, his hair at the moment probably makes it pretty obvious that he's homeless. Or a runaway, really. Which he is.

So he puts  _brush_  on the mental list of things that he ought to have, trying to look relatively normal as he rakes his fingers through his long hair to break the tangles that formed overnight. Not many people give him a second glance (except one woman who actually seems to be checking him out), so he figures he's good for now.

There's a whole bunch of huge corporate buildings to his right and an empty field a ways ahead to his left, and he's pretty sure that he should only have to round a few corners before getting to the park that has the fountain in it. Sam shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket and buries them in the rolled-up blanket to warm them up as he walks, though he repeatedly checks his pants pockets as though something might magically appear in them if he just keeps checking.

People pass, and Sam tries to gauge which ones he's able to pick-pocket from. He's done it before **—** when he was a little kid, he was practically homeless, moving around from motel to motel and having to learn from his big brother how to do these kind of things. And he's good at it. Especially since no one looks at him and assumes he's a criminal **—** he's just too cute. He was blessed with that kind of face.

Sam isn't even  _that_  starving right now-he feels a bit weak, but he could probably go the rest of the day and still be able to function. But he knows he better get some kind of food pretty soon, and that impulse strikes when he sees a kid up ahead on the otherwise empty sidewalk who looks to be his age and probably has some money with him.

When he's about a foot away, the blonde hair on the back of the kid's head turns into a face, and Sam retreats his arm and deeply considers just running away.

"If you wanted some money, you could have just asked," the kid tells him **—** and nope, he's not really a kid, his voice and stubble put him at at least seventeen. So he's a bit older than Sam.

Immediately, Sam's panicked expression becomes an offended frown and he steps back with a huff. "I don't need your charity **—** "

"It's not charity, I'm  _sharing_  with you, alright? One runaway to another. Come on."

And before Sam can protest or ask any questions, the mystery kid reaches out to grab his arm and pulls him forward.

* * *

 

Their destination is a cafe a few streets away, and they're inside before the guy lets go of his arm. Sam's not entirely sure why he didn't just shirk him off on the way here **—** maybe it was the warmth. Maybe it was just the comfort of another human's touch. Maybe it was because of some odd sense of fear that he would get lost without a guiding hand.

"Two hot chocolates," the guy tells the barista, sliding over a five dollar bill over the counter with one finger and a quick grin. Sam notices that he doesn't add a "please," and that the barista looks at him like he comes here often. And then glances to Sam as though surprised that this guy isn't alone this time.

"What if I had wanted something other than hot chocolate?" Sam asks him with a slight laugh as they walk away with their mugs.

"You're homeless, you don't get to  _want_  things," he tells him, sitting down at a booth and gesturing for Sam to sit down with him. "Not when it comes to food. You take what you can get. Besides, who  _doesn't_  like hot chocolate?"

"Fucking weirdos," Sam says after a tentative sip (it's a bit too hot, still), and the other guy grins. "So. Uh **—** first things first, I guess. What's your name?"

"Funny, I'd figure  _thanking_  me would be the first thing **—** "

"Oh **—** thanks, sor **—** "

"Nah, it's fine. I'm kidding. My name is Lucifer, nice to meet you," he adds dryly, and Sam just stares.

He's staring with raised eyebrows for a good five seconds before setting the mug down and saying, "Okay, now what's your  _real_  name."

"Yes, okay, I  _know_  it's a weird name," he sighs, stiffening his shoulders and letting them fall like he's had to explain this way too many times. "My parents were braindead and didn't realize naming their kid after Satan was socially problematic, so sue me. Though personally, I think Lucifer was a pretty cool guy. He was the very first angel God created, did you know that?"

"I **—** uh... no. I didn't." Sam doesn't know whether to be amused or slightly nervous. He supposes he'll just wing it and hide his expression under his mug of hot chocolate.

"...What's your name, then?"

"Sam."

Lucifer's expression is stuck for a moment, and then the edges of his lips seem to stretch involuntarily into a smile before his tongue darts out to lick them and he looks down. And Sam just frowns curiously.

"What?"

"Nothing **—** just. It's a... nice name."

An awkward feeling stirs in Sam's chest, so he tries to dispel it by leaning forward and asking Lucifer another question.

"Why did you want to buy hot chocolate for me?"

Lucifer seems unable to answer properly for a moment before saying, "Like I said, one runaway to another. I'd rather buy you a warm drink than have you steal money from me to get one on your own."

 _So what you're really saying is that you're lonely._  Sam doesn't say it out loud, but he can see it. He doesn't know why, but he's always been particularly good at reading people. And there's something in Lucifer's eyes and the way his chest heaves that tells him that he just needs someone to talk to like this, and that he doesn't do it often.

What he says instead is "You don't look like a runaway. Or even like you're homeless."

"Neither do you."

"Well, I've only been away from home for about a day. What about you?"

"A few months," he admits, to Sam's visible surprise. "I take showers at the homeless shelter, that's probably why I don't look it."

They try to hurry to drink their hot chocolate before it can get cold, and Lucifer gets a huge cinnamon roll for them to split because they can't just survive on liquids.

"Don't you worry about spending too much in one sitting?" Sam asks, hesitating to take the half that Lucifer offers him.

"Not really," he tells him without finishing his bite. "I'm a good thief. And the more we order, the longer they let us stay here."

Lucifer tells him what his life on the streets has been like for him and doesn't ask many questions in return. Sam decides that he likes that this guy isn't nosy, meanwhile the stories make him more willing to talk about things on his own. Really, Lucifer's genuine look of curiosity and the little smile he gets on his face when Sam starts talking is what makes him want to talk as well. This guy looks at him like he cares about what he has to say, like he  _wants_  to listen. And that's pretty damn refreshing.

"It's not even like **—** they didn't treat me badly or anything," Sam explains to answer the question Lucifer never asked, but must be wondering. "I mean, yeah, my dad got drunk a lot. But I didn't ever get hit or anything. It's really more like... I was treated  _too_  well, y'know? I was treated like how people treat cripples even though there's nothing wrong with me. My brother and my dad always made me feel like there was something wrong with me and I wanted to get away from it. I know I'm different from them **—** way different. I'm not gonna be a fucking auto-repairman like my dad. And I'm not gonna live in some rickety little house only to move after a few months when my dad gets a new job in a new city."

By the time he's finished with his little speech, his fingers are digging a little too hard into his half of the cinnamon roll, and he has to set it down so he can suck the melted sugar off them. Other than the small smirk he gives him, Lucifer looks kind of sad at his story.

When Sam doesn't seem to be about to say anything else, Lucifer smacks his lips and says with a small nod, "I get it. I couldn't really stand the life I had at home, either."

By the look of it, though, he doesn't want to divulge anything else about why he left home for now. And Sam respects that.

* * *

 

His first (well **—** technically, second) day as one of the thousands of homeless youths in America is made much easier with Lucifer around. They could have theoretically spent much longer just sitting around in the cafe and talking and watching sports scores that they didn't care about on the TV, but Lucifer decides that he wants to show Sam the rest of this part of Detroit.

"See, you start getting more comfortable with all of this once you stop thinking of homelessness as a financial cripple and start thinking of it as just a different lifestyle," Lucifer tells him, gesturing with the air of someone giving a tour through Hollywood. "Which, as a runaway, I'm sure you already have."

"Well, for the record, I had money and food with me when I left home, but it got stolen **—** "

"And that happens to most of us, yeah. I had a tent but one of the bigger guys who lives under the bridge stole it just a few weeks ago. Survival of the fittest, y'know? But yeah, that's just part of the lifestyle. It's harsh even when you're accommodated."

They walk, with Lucifer's hand occasionally drifting to Sam's upper arm to guide him even when he doesn't really need it, until they reach that park and Lucifer ushers him to sit down on one of the benches.

"I didn't really think of it as a lifestyle," Sam admits a moment after they sit down, crossing one foot over his knee and turning to face him. "I just left thinking that it was a reality I'd have to get used to after a while."

Lucifer scoots a little closer to him and folds his arms, squinting at the frost-bitten playground equipment. "...It's both, really. Here's how it is: You live on your own, without anyone telling you what to do **—** not even the law, if you're good at evading it, without any responsibilities other than providing for yourself. If you're good at stealing or you're okay with begging on the streets or prostituting yourself, it's really not all  _that_  difficult. Just a little different."

There's a strong silence that lasts almost an uncomfortable amount of time before Sam finally asks, "Have you ever done that?"

"Hm?" Lucifer turns and looks at him almost too casually. "Begged on the streets, no. I have too much pride for that. But I did suck a guy off in an alleyway once for fifty bucks. It was worth it." And Sam's thinking about how he'd probably have less of a problem resorting to that than begging even when Lucifer adds "Not that I think it's a good idea. Who knows what strangers might have on their dicks, and Herpes on the mouth is a bitch when you can't afford a hospital bill. Trust me, I've seen it on plenty of the kids here."

"And... you've never **—**?"

"No, thankfully enough."

Sam finds himself completely comfortable discussing blowjobs and STDs despite the fact that they're in a park with children, for some reason. But he's still glad when the topic changes and Lucifer gets back to explaining this lifestyle.

"Really, you just have to know the city. What places are the safest to sleep in, the cheapest to buy things from, the easiest to steal from..."

Sam probably could have guessed it on his own, but the fountain in the park is a wishing fountain, and Lucifer regularly steals the change from it when there isn't anyone around who'll stop him. And then it's often pretty easy to get wallets from the purses that moms leave by the benches while they watch their kids.

Lucifer shows him the men's homeless shelter and stands guard by his clothes while he takes a shower, and he shows him the streets that are basically outdoor malls with plenty of people giving out free samples, and he brings him to two other parks which don't have fountains, but they have stupid middle-schoolers who will give you ten dollars for a bag with crushed-up chalk in a bag thinking it's crack.

"And you do that every day?" Sam asks incredulously, not so much unnerved as he is impressed.

"Every other day or so," Lucifer shrugs. "It's a pretty steady income. But if I let them snort chalk  _every_  day then they'd probably start fritzing and have to go to a hospital too soon, and then I'd be out of customers. The placebo effect takes its course pretty well if they do it at good intervals."

"That's..." Sam exhales a sharp laugh and grins, first at Lucifer and then at nothing in particular. "Actually kind of genius."

Lucifer seems to beam at his compliment before breathing out a  _thanks_ , and Sam feels his heart skip a beat for reasons that he can only identify as  _No one looks at me like you do, and I've only just met you._

When it starts getting cold like this, Lucifer explains, sleeping under the highway bridge gets a bit too harsh due to the dampness and the freezing temperature of concrete. So he's taken to sleeping in the corners of bus stations until they kick him out (which apparently they only do if other people get uncomfortable, which is absolute bullshit), and sometimes in the church when he's  _really_  desperate.

"I take it you have something against Christianity," Sam says dryly **—** in a non-judgmental voice **—** when Lucifer shows him the neighborhood church.

"Yeah, you could say that," is all he replies, in a clipped voice.

And then, of course, he has to teach Sam about all the other homeless kids he'll have to deal with back at the bridge.

He doesn't have an issue going back there, but there's a lot more eyes on him when he walks in with Lucifer than there were last night, and it makes him uncomfortable enough that he involuntarily reaches out for Lucifer's sleeve.

"They're probably just surprised that you're with me," Lucifer assures him, though he doesn't brush Sam's hand off. "I kind of have a reputation."

"So... are you like, the big kahuna here or something?" he asks more jokingly than anything, thinking that it would be pretty funny if he was going to be the new kid that everyone was jealous of because the boss took a liking to him.

"Uh **—** not exactly." Lucifer spots an empty space against the sloped wall and sits down, pulling Sam with him. "Well, I sort of am. Most of them are intimidated by me, and if they're not, they're stupid. And most of them don't have similar survival tactics because they don't understand my way of thinking **—** "

"In that this is a lifestyle, not a crippling situation?" Sam smirks.

"Basically. And they're just not as smart. Or manipulative. They get by on physical strength and just being generally despicable and whoring themselves out. And  _no_ ," Lucifer adds with a sharp gesture of his finger, "tricking kids into buying fake crack isn't despicable **—** it's making use of other people's stupidity and essentially giving them what they deserve."

They both smile, and Sam shifts the way he's sitting so that his and Lucifer's knees end up touching **—** it's not on purpose, but neither of them move away. So he keeps it there.

"So... they're surprised to see me with you because you don't get along with anyone?" Sam tries to confirm after a minute, raising both eyebrows.

"I don't talk to many people unless I want something from them, or if they want something from me," he nods. "I'm not exactly friends with anyone here **—** though I know most of them. That girl over there, with the black hair and the eyes that make her look like a tweaker," **—** He points to the other side of the space under the bridge and doesn't seem to care that she can see him **—** "that's Ruby. Sometimes she pays me just to kiss her. It's kind of weird, but hey, it's good money. And then the guy she's sitting next to **—** everyone calls him Zay, though that's probably not his real name, and he's a Grade-A douchebag."

Sam learns that most of the homeless kids who frequent this area are awful people that he should probably avoid. There's Alistair, who has a ridiculously creepy voice and apparently gets most of his money for mugging people. Everyone avoids him if only because he makes them uncomfortable.

"Really, though, it's just his voice," Lucifer goes on, looking uneasy. "I stabbed a guy for money my first week away from home and I don't have a problem with it **—** just... if you heard him talk, you'd understand."

There's also Eve, who rakes in most of her money from prostituting herself, and Lilith, who's by far the youngest out of everyone here but also probably the least trustworthy. She's cute and innocent-looking enough that she has no problem getting money just from begging, but she also seems to have no issue catching squirrels on her own and cooking them over a trashcan fire. It's really fucking creepy.

And then there's Benny and Andrea, who are definitely a couple of the nicest out of the bunch **—**

"That's the guy who offered to knock me out so I could sleep last night," Sam says when Lucifer points him out.

"Yeah, he's pretty sympathetic to newcomers. And all I really know about him is that everyone trusts him. It's the accent, probably."

Essentially, Sam just learns to avoid everyone but Lucifer unless he needs something that they have, and if he has something worth trading. Except Benny and a couple other kids. And by the time Lucifer's finished, he realizes that it's evening and he's pretty hungry.

Which is fairly convenient because Lucifer allows no more than a minute's silence before he stands up and says, "You've gotta be starving, let's go."

Sam doesn't even question it, he just takes Lucifer's hand (unnecessarily, he realizes, but he also doesn't care) and allows him to pull him up. As they walk back out onto the streets, though, they get stopped by Ruby, who calls out **—**

"Hey, Luce **—** who's the tall drink of water you got trailing after you like an overgrown puppy?"

He can hear Lucifer's groan, and he can guess it's either in disdain for the nickname or for her referring to Sam like that.

"I think I can answer that for myself, thanks," Sam snaps, frowning. "I'm Sam. Why?"

For a moment, all she does is look him up and down, which makes him kind of uncomfortable (and Lucifer groans again, though quieter this time). And then **—** "I'll pay for your date if you give me a nice, long, wet one right here," she tells him, pointing to her puckered lips and fishing out a ten from the crevice between her breasts.

Neither Sam nor Lucifer bother arguing that it's not a date, but instead they just share a mutual look as though Sam wants permission, and Lucifer gives him a gesture saying go ahead.

Ignoring the looks from everyone else, he steps forward and, keeping his hands in his pockets, leans down so that their faces are level, and lets her grab his face and fit their lips together and do what she wants for about eight seconds.

"Mmm, better than I expected," she says once she pulls away, smirking and licking her lips and handing Sam the cash.

Lucifer's still frowning as they walk away, and Sam spits on the sidewalk in an attempt to get the taste of tobacco out of his mouth while he unfolds the ten-dollar bill to look at it like it's a treasure.

"At least I can say that I paid for it this time."

* * *

 

Sam might have expected to just part ways with Lucifer and go off on his own earlier, when he was simply being treated to hot chocolate, but at this point he would be surprised and largely upset if Lucifer were to even leave his side.

"You said earlier that you don't talk to people unless you want something from them," Sam says through a bite of a McDonald's hamburger sometime later. Lucifer stops sipping his drink and looks up, frowning slightly. "Do you want something from me?"

The way Lucifer looks at him isn't guilty, and it isn't an arrogant  _well, you caught me_  look **—** it's genuine. It really is. "I want your company," is all he says, like that should be a perfect explanation. And it kind of is, but Sam's curiosity isn't satiated.

"You don't want anyone else's company, though."

"Yeah, because none of them are  _like me_. At all. And, well **—** you are. It's hard to explain."

He blatantly avoids saying anything else by stuffing several fries into his mouth, and Sam only continues to stare at him for another few seconds before dropping it. He guesses that he kind of understands.

Ironically enough, Lucifer suggests that they sleep under the bridge tonight because it's not as wet as it could be, and because it's closer than the bus station or the church. Neither of them really care that it takes a while for them to fall asleep that night because they at least have each other to talk to while they lie down on Sam's blanket and slowly get tired.

Eventually they both stop talking entirely and start to fall asleep **—** Lucifer on his side, facing away from the wall, and Sam on his back. But at some point in the process of him going unconscious, his eyes crack open and he watches Lucifer's shoulders rise and fall for about a minute, then deciding to roll over onto his own side and throw an arm over him.

For warmth, that's it. Of course.

Though he really just likes having a broad back pushing back into his chest and the comfort of pressing his face into Lucifer's hair, and it's strangely easy to fit his arm underneath Lucifer's **—** and the way Sam's fingers splay out over his chest just feels kind of  _right_.

When he wakes up the next morning, it's not so much to the daylight as it is to the sound of something landing right next to his head.

His eyes shoot open and in spite of the startling noise, the first thing he notices is the lack of anyone underneath his arm. Instead, Lucifer is standing right next to his head. Along with his backpack. Which was stolen yesterday.

"How **—** "

"Zay stole it," Lucifer huffs, sounding breathless. He sits down with his legs criss-crossed and meets Sam's eyes, at which his own get visibly softer. "I woke up before you and heard him talking about us. And so I went and beat the shit out of him and got this back **—** whatever food was in it, he already ate it. But at least you can keep your shit in it again."

" _Our_  shit," Sam corrects him without really thinking about it **—** and then he does think about it, and agrees with his initial statement. He's about to say something clever like  _"Mi mierda es tu meirda"_  when he notices that Lucifer's got a bruise forming on his eye and a split lip, and hastily pushes himself to a sitting position. "Hey, you're **—** "

"Yeah, I know. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not invincible. But I'm fine. The cold is kind of numbing the pain, anyway."

Lucifer smiles in a way that makes it obvious he's not just trying to be tough-he means it. And he just went and beat a kid half to death for a backpack that belongs to a guy he's known for a day (and assumedly for making some homophobic slurs, but  _still_ ).

All Sam can do is laugh in disbelief and start rolling up the blanket to put in the backpack and say, "You're crazy."

"Hey, you ran away from home. You're crazy too."

And he can't really argue with that.

* * *

 

The leftover money from Ruby goes toward another breakfast at that cafe, and Sam manages to get their cinnamon rolls free by flirting with the barista a bit.

"What was that?" Lucifer asks once they're sitting down, and his voice is somewhere in between jealous and impressed.

"Apparently you're not the only one good at manipulating people," Sam says nonchalantly, though unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice.

That day, Sam gets to watch Lucifer trick a couple twelve year-olds into thinking that chalk is cocaine firsthand, and he has to admit, it's pretty hilarious. With the money from that and the coins they fish out of the fountain before some woman tells them to stop, Lucifer takes Sam to a thrift store and gets them each another full outfit.

"Yeah, it would probably be easier to get clothes from the donation bin at the shelter," he starts to explain before Sam can even start to argue, "but I still have too much pride to wear someone's hand-me-downs. We should still wear the kind of clothes that we want to."

Sam just nods **—** he gets it, and he agrees wholeheartedly. He picks out another plaid shirt and a pair of pants, socks, and underwear his size to change into when his current outfit gets dirty every few days, not counting his hoodie. And he notices that Lucifer's outfit of choice is a band shirt, so he can only assume that there's another one underneath his jacket.

They spend at least an hour in there before they actually go and pay for their clothes, looking around at all the outrageous clothes they find on the racks and sitting on the couches, "trying them out" and joking about possibly saving up for a small couch and taking it under the bridge. It's nice, just sitting together on something that's actually comfortable **—** and they don't even try to sit any distance apart, Sam sits down and Lucifer falls right next to him, thighs pressed up together and all, and neither of them care.

Both of their minds go directly to the way Sam held him last night, but they don't say a word about it.

That night they end up sleeping in the park underneath the slide, and Sam doesn't even wait until they're mostly asleep to wrap an arm around him.

And it just kind of continues like that. There's just enough monotony that they feel comfortable and efficient, but not so much that they both start to go crazy in a bad way. Because the very next day, Sam makes an impulse decision and sits on the same side of the booth in the cafe. Lucifer gives him a look but otherwise doesn't say anything.

And  _God_ , if anything, the  _look_  is worth it.

The first time Sam brings it up is a week later when they both knock a guy out in an alley to get his wallet and Lucifer is just standing there, shoulders heaving as he catches his breath, and staring at Sam with a sort of awe on his face even though he must have just seemed criminally insane a moment ago.

"Stop it," is all he can think to say when he pockets the money and turns to Lucifer. It feels like their breaths are in sync.

"Stop what?" Lucifer's brow furrows, and Sam can tell that he's genuinely confused.

" _Looking_  at me like that, you **—** I just nearly killed someone, and even now you've got that look on your face, looking at me like, like I'm **—** "

"Beautiful?" he says, and his voice tilts but it's not a question, it's in his eyes and he's saying it like a fact,  _You are beautiful, Sam. I've known you for a week and you are beautiful._

He looks like he almost regrets saying it a moment afterward, and Sam almost wishes he hadn't because he can't handle it.

"No, you can't do that **—** because that's what  _you_  are, Lucifer! You're beautiful and I'm a monster, that's why I ran away, I couldn't stand my own family looking at me like there was something wrong with me, and no one has ever looked at me like you do and **—** fuck, you've only known me for a week, so  _how can you look at me like that_?"

Lucifer's expression has only gotten sadder, but the look is still there. He hasn't changed his mind at all since Sam started talking, and for some reason that makes him angry.

"...Because I'm a monster, too," he says quietly, his breathing ragged and even more so as Sam steps forward, across the unconscious body of the guy they just mugged, and grabs Lucifer by either side of his face to push him up against the brick wall and kiss him hard.

Whatever discomfort Lucifer feels with his back up against brick, he either doesn't care or he doesn't voice it because he lets Sam push him and he kisses him back with all he has. Which isn't really all that much considering all the physical effort they just put forth a few minutes ago, and they both really resent that their first kiss had to be like this **—** so breathless it hurts, full of tears, and while standing next to an unconscious stranger.

But it's still at least a full minute before Sam pulls back and presses their foreheads together and breathes into his mouth, "Maybe we should leave before he wakes up. Or before we get arrested."

* * *

 

The very next day is Halloween but they don't spend it discussing candy or what they would do with their families for the holiday before they ran away; they don't even get up from their seat in the cafe until they're practically being thrown out by the owners, and they spend all that time holding onto each other and kissing periodically and talking about more important things.

Sam talks about his mom. He tells Lucifer why he said the things he said last night **—** why he feels like a monster, why his family always looked at him that way. Over hot chocolate, he explains how it's his fault that his mom died when he was a baby: The fire started because of him. And it killed her. And even though he was only six months old and he couldn't have possibly known what he was doing, he still feels at fault because his dad always made it seem that way.

"And... everyone else. Even people who had no idea about my mom... they've always thought I was crazy once they got to know me, or they saw my anger issues firsthand and got scared. I was sent to the counselor a lot, and they always had something to say to my dad about my psyche, like I was about to go  _Girl, Interrupted_  on them or something."

Sam grimaces into his mug as he remembers when Dean made that reference and warned him not to behave too weird unless he wanted to be sent to a mental hospital **—** because it definitely was something their dad would do.

" _At least don't be Angelina Jolie's character because seriously, she wasn't even that hot in that movie."_  Okay, that, at the very least, makes him smirk.

"If it's any consolation," Lucifer starts with a squeeze to his hand, "I was put on head meds when I was twelve. Still not entirely sure what for."

"So you really  _are_  crazy, then."

Lucifer's grin breaks into a laugh as he presses his face into Sam's shoulder, breathing him in and smelling rainwater. But then he thinks of the people who must be glaring at them from their own booths, and how lucky he is that the owner of the cafe is like him. And that thought sits and stirs until the silence has become painful and his chest feels like it might explode.

It's a few minutes and at least four sips of hot chocolate later until Lucifer sighs resignedly and turns to an expectant Sam.

"So, I **—** um. I was afraid to tell you before, but then last night happened, and **—** well... I didn't actually run away." He pauses to breathe and Sam raises his eyebrows in slight confusion before letting them fall-and he thinks he understands. "I was kicked out for being gay. I just tell everyone that I ran away because **—** "

"I get it," Sam interrupts, putting one hand on Lucifer's chest as though it might actually slow down his over-excited heart. "You don't have to tell me."

Lucifer's thankful for that, and he leans into Sam's touch and stays like that without much to say for the next hour. He's fine just sitting there with Sam's arm around his shoulders and Sam's voice occasionally permeating the air with soft words of praise or observation or memory. There's a question here or there, and Lucifer has no problem with them. He feels he could tell Sam absolutely anything at this point.

"Do you think you'd ever want to go back home?" he wonders aloud, partially asking Lucifer and partially to himself.

"Now that I've got you? No."

* * *

 

One of the best things about Michigan is that when you steal bags of candy from small children on Halloween, it lasts a while without getting gross because there's no heat to melt it.

In the following weeks the ground gets covered with a gradually thickening layer of frost, and Sam and Lucifer have stopped making visits to the spot under the bridge entirely (at least until it gets moderately warm again). They have, however, had unpleasant run-ins with a couple of the kids who frequent there, which ended in violence on only one occasion. And Zay was the only one who seriously hurt then.

It also means no Ruby, but Sam honestly couldn't care less **—** she could pull a hundred dollars out of her bra and Sam wouldn't take it for a kiss because he really doesn't want anything on his mouth but food and Lucifer. Funnily enough, it's more often the latter.

And despite the reason that Lucifer was kicked out in the first place **—** despite the way society still treats people like them (though of course it's getting better, it's nearly the next fucking  _century_ ), they rarely try to hide it when they kiss.

They can do it all they want without any repercussions in the cafe because the owner is a lesbian and the staff are all LGBT-friendly, and if they're just on the side of the street they give literally no shits whatsoever as to who might give them a dirty look, but they know it's a bad idea to do anything anywhere near the church, at least. Sure, it's Michigan, it's north and people are more open-minded here, but there are still assholes. No matter where you go, there are always people who are willing to get violent over other people being happy.

But then there are always wonderful people, too. There's a woman at the thrift store who tells them what a cute couple they are when they go to buy gloves and start warming up each other's faces with them. And one night while sleeping in the corner of the bus station, they're woken up and immediately think they're being told to leave, but it turns out to be a man holding a pillow and saying, "I'm sorry to wake you two, but I just wanted to give you this. You're really brave for being together and I figure you ought to be comfortable while you're doing it."

Normally Lucifer would scowl at any form of charity, but the reasoning behind it makes him want to cry, and he does, just barely. A few tears make their way onto Sam's hoodie but he holds back the rest of them. The kisses that Sam presses into his hair make it harder.

"I wouldn't really say we're all that brave," Sam mutters, adjusting their new pillow between his head and the corner of the wall. "We just really,  _really_  don't care."

Lucifer gives a small smile in agreement that Sam can't even see, but it still really matters to him. Because sometimes he's still so scared, sometimes his arrogance and narcissism makes a complete one-eighty and he feels like shit, he feels like everything really was his fault and like he deserves this because there's something  _wrong_  with him... and it goes away. It passes just like any normal existential crisis, and he just thinks about how if he had never been kicked out, he never would have met Sam. So it really must have just been meant to be.

The gesture matters more than the pillow itself, mostly because it's almost entirely useless to Lucifer. He never sleeps that way **—** he always needs to cuddle, and he needs to be completely wrapped around Sam.

Lucifer cuddles head-first, like he's curling in on himself and trying to bury himself in Sam. He'll find a place in between Sam's ribs to settle, and his shoulders come up like some kind of defense while he wraps his arms around Sam's sides and clutches at his back. And Sam will always let him do it **—** he lets Lucifer lie on top of him like he's making it known that he belongs to him and no one else can have him.

And because he can feel Lucifer still shaking slightly on top of him, Sam threads his fingers through his hair to calm him down. He keeps them there the whole night.

* * *

 

It's a pretty long walk to the nearest mall, but it's also freezing enough that they decide a considerable amount of exercise will be good for keeping them moderately warm in the couple inches of snow that December's brought Detroit. That, and they want an excuse to hold hands for a little over an hour while walking in the snow. What can they say, they like to be stupidly romantic sometimes.

"People romanticize the homeless lifestyle just as much as they tell everyone else that they're stupid for romanticizing it," Lucifer tells him when Sam brings it up. "And really, it's perfectly romantic **—** when you don't have a real roof over your head and you don't worry about whether or not you'll get paid enough this week to eat, everything gets boiled down to how you feel **—** am I happy today? Yes, I am, and that's because I found love where there was nothing but dirt and fake cocaine and stolen money."

When it comes down to it, Sam supposes, anything can be romanticized and none of it's wrong because there is, in fact, a certain beauty in tragedy. The only issue is that you have to find it while you're there; you don't go looking for it.

And then he supposes that he ought to just focus on the way Lucifer's gloved hand feels in his and on the Christmas decorations on the apartment balconies and stores because  _woah_ , this is not really the time for a minor existential crisis.

In the next moment he also focuses on Lucifer's use of the word  _love_ , but he decides not to bring it up. He also chooses not to mentally acknowledge the way his chest grows warm at the thought.

_Christmas. Yeah. Focus on Christmas._

"When did you stop believing in Santa?" Sam ends up asking out of pure curiosity, eyes trailing a large blow-up Santa sitting on top of a bakery.

"What, you mean Santa's not real?" Lucifer maintains a serious expression for longer than expected, and he only breaks it when Sam's bitch-face intensifies. "Kidding **—** I mean, I guess I never cared too much about the concept of a magical fat man giving me presents to think much of it when I found out it was just my dad writing ' _Santa_ ' on the presents. My family was all about the religious side of Christmas, anyway. Not so much Kris Kringle, more baby Jesus and all that."

"So did you ever care about the Jesus part, even?" Sam smirks, expecting to get Lucifer's own brand of a bitch-face.

And it's well-received. "I did until I grew a brain. You know all the modern Christmas traditions are Pagan, right?"

"Heard that somewhere, yeah."

"...So when did you stop believing?" Lucifer asks several moments of silence later, his voice softer, more genuine. Like he's expecting the pause that Sam gives before answering.

"I... actually wasn't ever told that there was a Santa," he admits. "My dad couldn't afford shit and my brother told me outright that all my classmates and teachers were lying about him being real."

Christmas doesn't really bring up fond memories for either of them, so they stop talking about it. But as soon as they walk through the mall doors and start kicking the snow off their shoes, Sam and Lucifer simultaneously decide that they want to  _make_  some.

Going to the mall is probably the best idea they've had in a while **—** not only is the entire mess of Christmas decorations inexplicably lifting their spirits, but there are more free samples than usual and they can't be kicked out until it closes. They don't even look all that homeless due to the way they still manage to be relatively high-maintenance, and it's ridiculously crowded due to Christmas being in two weeks, so no one looks at them twice.

What little money they have is spent on cookies, and it's  _not_  spent on any candy because it is just so ridiculously easy to steal from candy stores that have the buckets full of unwrapped candy just sitting there. There's also several people stationed around the mall to give out free candy canes, and they each end up with three.

"You know my favorite part about this lifestyle?" Sam says seriously when they're sitting, jacket pockets full of Christmas candy and his lips slightly stained from sucking on a candy cane.

"Hm?"

"Having absolutely  _no one_  to tell you that sugar is bad for you."

Not that John or Dean ever really told him that, or that he's ever even been big on sweets. It's just nice.

On one end of the mall they find a photobooth, and Lucifer forfeits all of his better judgement and uses his remaining few dollars on it instead of food. But only because Sam agrees, of course.

"I've never actually been in one of these things," he tells him.

"Me neither. Okay, we get four pictures. Let's make them worth it."

Lucifer has to take one of his gloves off to press the start button on the screen, and both of them end up slightly nervous and unsure during the first countdown **—** so they end up just holding each other around the shoulders and smiling somewhat awkwardly with their heads tilted towards each other.

But then they're more ready for the next one, and the ten-second countdown is more than enough.

"Here, get on my lap." And Lucifer does so without questioning it, so Sam can lean in with his arms around Lucifer's waist and his head on his shoulder, pressing their cheeks together. At which Lucifer makes the biggest possible grin without even trying.

For the next picture, Lucifer turns to kiss Sam on the cheek, so for the last one Sam kisses him on the mouth and smiles into his lips with his hand on Lucifer's neck.

He doesn't exactly plan it that way **—** it just sort of happens that he acts on his impulse to breathe " _I love you_ " into his mouth the moment the picture is taken. After that point, though, it's pretty easily expected that Lucifer opens his eyes as though in disbelief of the confession, and that neither of them leave the booth for at least another two minutes because they simply  _can't_  stop kissing. Well, until someone raps their knuckles on the metal and tells them that other people are waiting.

When they get their pictures from the slot, neither of them can stop looking at them.

"I'll take the awkward one if you also let me have the one where we're kissing," Sam says, his eyes still lighting up at the way their mouths are barely touching in that picture, his lips parted in confession and Lucifer's in a beautiful grin.

"Okay," Lucifer nods, carefully ripping the perforations and handing Sam his two. And he doesn't really think about what difference it would even make.

* * *

 

"Do you ever think about the Apocalypse?"

The things that come out of Lucifer's mouth are often either too deep or too absurd, but this one has got to take the cake.

"Uh, not really. Why?"

Lucifer makes a slightly dangerous jump off the playground slide and lands with perfect footing, as though to dramatically introduce whatever point he's about to make. Meanwhile Sam sighs in amusement and sits down on one of the steps leading up to the top of the slide.

"Because a whole bunch of people think it's gonna happen when the new millennium starts," he says like it should be obvious. He starts pacing away, and Sam has no choice but to get back up and follow. "You've seen all the Y2K stuff on the news in the cafe, haven't you? People think all the electricity's going to shut off at once and we'll be left with no resources."

"Well, yeah, I've seen it **—** but it's obviously not going to happen," Sam counters, not really willing to entertain the notion of the world ending in any case. He follows Lucifer to the metal fence at the edge of the park, wondering only vaguely where this point is leading.

"Yeah, probably not," he finally agrees after a long, pensive pause. "But I almost wish that it would."

At that, Sam has to step back and raise an incredulous eyebrow. "...You  _want_  the Apocalypse to happen. Okay **—** you know what, aside from everything else, why are we even talking about this? It's Christmas and you suddenly bring up the end of days **—** "

" _No_ , I mean **—** I don't  _really_  want it to happen," Lucifer corrects him, leaning back against the fence and sighing heavily, making frost in the air. "I value the wonders modern technology has given us too much. But imagine if it did **—** we'd be on equal footing with everyone else in  _every_  way. We **—** you and me... we could basically  _rule_  this city. We're smarter than most, we could get the resources **—** and come on, don't tell me you never feel that way."

Sam has a feeling he knows what Lucifer means, but he folds his arms and asks anyway. "What way?"

"You know, like when the streets are nearly empty, or sometimes even when they're not, and you know this lifestyle is better than most of these clinically depressed corporate men and women are... and you feel like you fucking own the place. Like this is  _our_  city."

The look on Lucifer's face is more ambitious than Sam's ever seen it, and he almost wants to laugh but instead he just stares because he's pretty damn beautiful this way. About what Lucifer is saying, though... yeah, he gets it. He just never thought about it that exact way before so he doesn't have anything to do at first but nod.

"It probably puts us at some point of insanity to think that highly of ourselves," is what he finally says, to Lucifer's visible agreement. "No **—** it  _definitely_  does."

"And on Christmas, too, gosh. We can probably expect coal in our stockings this year." It's the voice he uses more than anything that makes Sam crack up, but then Lucifer grabs his hand and starts to lean against him. "In all seriousness, though, we do own Detroit. Just by being homeless, we put ourselves above the law and social expectations and everything else. We're the chaos that makes Detroit what it is, even. We  _are_  the statistics. So you know what? We built this city."

There's a few seconds of nothing but an odd feeling in the air before Lucifer grins and adds, "And you know what we built it on?"

"We **—** oh man, don't do this."

"Sam."

" _Don't_ _ **—**_ "

"We built it on  _rock and roll_."

And then he's tapping his feet and there's no stopping him at this point, so Sam just kind of stands back and listens with utter amusement while Lucifer starts singing the chorus, gradually getting louder. He's got an amazing voice, really, but he always looks at Sam like he expects him to join and Sam knows that he can't sing for shit.

" _Say you don't know me or recognize my face, say you don't care who goes to that kind of place_ _ **—**_ come on Sam, I know you know it **—** "

"Starship isn't even that great of a band **—** "

" _Knee deep in the hoopla sinking in your fight, too many runaways eating up the night..._ "

Lucifer's still grinning wildly and drumming the beat on his legs while he sings, and Sam would ashamed of how early he breaks and starts singing the next chorus with him if not for how happy Lucifer looks when he does.

"... _Don't you remember_ _ **—**_ "

" _We built this city_ _ **—**_ hey, finally **—** _we built this city on rock and roll_..."

It might be the magic of Christmas or just the magic of Lucifer, but Sam stops caring entirely how horrible of a singer he is and lets it go to the end.

* * *

 

When the sun starts setting, Sam won't tell Lucifer why, but he tells him to stay in the library while he goes to "take care of something" and then comes to get him an hour later.

"Did you just kill someone," he starts to ask immediately (and mostly serious), do we have to hide a body **—** "

"No, just **—** I have a present for you, okay? Now be patient."

Lucifer resists the urge to say "Okay, Mom," and just holds Sam's hand in anticipation as they walk to whatever it is.

An hour later, Sam stops in front of a motel and watches Lucifer's expression, hoping he'll put two and two together. Why wouldn't he, really **—** he's a genius.

"You..." The answer forms behind Lucifer's eyes as his eyebrows knit together. "Did you **—**?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"I saved up." Sam's surprised he isn't stuttering at all, what with the way he feels like his heart is in his throat, and how he's involuntarily grabbed both of Lucifer's hands. "Because I... I want it. With you. I mean **—** completely, not in a way we can get away with in public, and in a warm room with a bed and everything. And if you don't want to then we can just sleep in the room for tonight because I already paid for it."

Finding himself too breathless to answer, Lucifer nods feverishly and pulls Sam down by the neck to kiss him just for a few seconds before Sam has the chance to get the key out of his pocket and lead him by the hand to their room.

Neither of them have experience with this, so they have to figure it out, and it's slow and awkward but it's still  _perfect_  because nothing could be better than seeing each other like this for the first time. Nothing can compare to the way their bodies flush together while Sam kisses down Lucifer's chest and really just  _can't_  help himself, or to the way they breathe hot against each other's necks when they get down to their underwear and just rock against each other.

They've gotten each other off before, but never like this. It's always been quick and dirty with their hands shoved down each other's pants in a public bathroom or with them rutting against each other while making out in an alleyway **—** but now they have a chance to go slow. And they have all the time in the world to figure out how they want to do this.

Which is fairly easy, considering how Sam involuntarily wraps his legs around Lucifer's back and tells him that he wants him. So Lucifer prepares him carefully and pushes in slowly, and once he's completely in, Sam is already groaning how much he wants it.

When they're told with a loud knock on the door that they have an hour to check out the next morning, they stay wrapped up in each other for the next fifty minutes. And before getting fully dressed, Lucifer finds the photobooth pictures in Sam's pocket and uses the motel pen to write ' _We built this city_ ' on the back of them.

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, and perhaps with very slight disappointment, the world does not end on New Year's, and Sam and Lucifer kill at least twenty minutes joking about the idiots who stocked up on canned food.

With school starting back up, Lucifer gets more chances to make money off of middle schoolers trying desperately to get high and goes back in business. So while he sells chalk, Sam occasionally goes off on his own for a short while to pickpocket from strangers **—** they both agree they have a pretty efficient system going on.

Sam never gets caught until two weeks into January, when he reaches out to slip a wallet out of someone's back pocket and is interrupted by a gruff and horribly familiar voice barking his name.

" _Sam!_ "

"Wha **—** _Dean_?"

No. This can't **—** _no_.

Any feelings of being at all relieved to see his brother are drowned out by panic **—** he knows Dean is talking and he can feel his hand on his shoulder, but none of it makes any sense to him. All Sam hears is his world crashing down around him, with snippets of phrases coming from Dean's mouth: "Talked to the bus lady" **—** "Been in Detroit for a week" **—** "thought you were dead" **—** "Dad nearly  _killed_  me" **—** "taking you home" **—**

That last one rings in his ears like an alarm and seems to silence his thundering heartbeat as he steps back.

"No, I'm not coming home with you!" he practically screams, not caring whatsoever about the people staring. "I have a life here now **—** I left home for a  _reason_ _ **—**_ "

"Yeah, a really fucking stupid reason!" Dean shouts back, looking manic. "Dad and I have been worried sick **—** you think we're just going to let you be homeless out here? You're coming home, Sam, you can't **—** "

"Yes, I can, and I refuse to go home because that's  _not_  my home anymore." Dean seems personally offended at that, but Sam doesn't care. Before he can say anything else, though, there's a rough hand grabbing his shoulder and something that smells an awful lot like his dad's old jacket.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice there, Sam."

"Dad?" Shit,  _no_. "You don't understand **—** I can't leave, I have a friend here, I can't leave him **—** "

Only a moment later does he realize how that was a fatal mistake, because his dad's eyes narrow at the word  _him_  and he seems to understand immediately.

"We're taking you home,  _right now_ ," he growls. And that's the end of it.

Except it's not the end of it because Sam continues to scream, he continues to fight and try to wrestle his way out of his father's and brother's grasp, and he won't stop begging for them to at least let him go back to the park and say goodbye.

"He'll have no idea where I am, he'll think I just left him or that I  _died_ , you have to at least **—** "

"I don't  _have_  to do anything, Sam. You ran away from home. You're at fault here, not me."

That's the only thing John says to him for the rest of the car ride home, other than repeatedly telling him to stop crying.

* * *

 

No one knows where Sam is.

 _He wouldn't just leave me, I know he wouldn't, I_ know _he fucking wouldn't._

But otherwise, that would mean one of two things: Either something horrible has happened to him, or somehow, his family found him.

Lucifer doesn't stop looking **—** he even goes to the church and asks if the pastors have any idea where Sam might be. He asks every single store clerk within two miles and stabs a man to death in an alley in his frustration and tears when he gets absolutely nothing.

It's at least a month before he fully accepts that Sam's gone, and that he's alone again. And even then he still looks at the photobooth pictures of them every night and just cries.

* * *

 

John is so strict about Sam's life, now, that he's eighteen before he can finally leave the house again. In between that time, he doesn't move on, and he doesn't get over it, but he pretends to be okay. At some point his tears run out and he's just numb, and it gets easier to talk to his old friends again and occasionally make a new one **—** which really just means talking to people at school and nowhere else.

He and Lucifer never even told each other their last names, so they have no means whatsoever of contacting each other.

The moment he has the chance, Sam gets another bus ticket to Detroit. It's been two years, and he knows the chances of Lucifer still being there are low, but he has nothing to lose. He books a hotel and stays there for two weeks, looking all around the neighborhood that he lived in for those months and in the surrounding places, showing people the picture he has of Lucifer and praying that someone will have an answer.

Most of the same people still work the cafe, but none of them have any idea where Lucifer went. It seems like the only homeless kids who are still there are Ruby and Lilith, and according to them, Zay got killed in a knife fight and Lucifer just kind of disappeared on them.

By the time he forfeits and leaves Detroit, Sam decides that he's immensely relieved that he didn't receive any news of Lucifer jumping off a building or anything of the like. Because that really sounds like something he would do.

* * *

 

 

 

4 Years Later

If someone were to ask him if he's moved on, Sam would still say no. Not completely, anyway.

Even after running away for a few months, he still managed to get into Stanford. Imagine that, right? Lucifer would probably be laughing at him right now.

He even has a girlfriend, now. Her name is Jessica and she knows absolutely nothing about what happened in Detroit. And Sam wants to keep it that way **—** though it's hard some nights when he stays up thinking about what was cut short, and he wants to talk about it at the very least, but then realizes that he can't.

She doesn't last, though, because of what must have seemed like an extremely normal day to her.

While walking back from the convenience store near their apartment, or possibly sometime while there, Sam somehow drops his wallet. He realizes it when Jess asks him for five bucks later, and he panics when he can't find it in his pocket. The moment he's absolutely sure he'll never see it again, he breaks down entirely.

And he can't tell her what's wrong **—** how could he? How could he possibly explain to her that a picture of the man he loved years ago **—** and  _still_  loves **—** is in that wallet? If there's any solution other than telling her that it's over and that he  _just can't do it anymore_ , he doesn't want to hear it.

Just as a last resort, he opens his laptop for the millionth time and searches Whitepages for anyone with the first name Lucifer. He searches Google and every possible medium there is on the internet for finding people, and still nothing.

He curses himself a thousand times over for never even thinking to scan those pictures, and he tries so hard not to think about cold nights in the corner of the bus station or singing in the park or hot chocolate in that booth in the cafe, but it all comes flooding back to him so hard that he just crashes.

He thinks about Meg's words and how his time as a runaway didn't end in some stupid moral shit, but just in tragedy.  _Not every has to go home._  He didn't. He was  _forced_  to go.

And for the longest time, all he does is cry like it's the ride home from Detroit all over again.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided that I refuse to let it end the way it did.

In the Summer following graduation, Sam stays in his apartment and, instead of taking time off to visit his family or go on some kind of vacation, doubles his shift in maintenance at the local hospital. With Jess out and not paying rent anymore, it's hard to pay it all himself unless he makes some sacrifices.

He does plan on getting another roommate **—** he's just not emotionally ready yet. Nor is he emotionally ready to pursue anything more ambitious than the job he has despite his studying towards becoming a lawyer.

Other than that, though, Sam's getting on relatively fine. He still talks to a few of his college friends and he still gets calls from Dean. Occasionally he misses Jess, but then he thinks about it and realizes that he really just misses the things they would do together. Sam really can't handle having anyone too close to him right now.

Late in July, Sam recieves an unexpected knock on his apartment door while taking a shower, and he can only assume it's his landlady or a friend coming over for a surprise (and unwanted) visit. Or a solicitor. But he doesn't want to take the chance, so he hurries up conditioning his hair and rinses, then steps out of the shower to hastily dry off and wrap a towel around his waist.

There's another knock while he's on his way out of the bathroom, so Sam yells "Hold on!" and quickens his steps, not at all ready for the person he sees when he unlocks and opens the door.

At first he thinks it's a stranger, and he's slightly embarrassed that they had to catch him still wet and with nothing but a towel on (Dean would say that this is the beginning of every single porno ever) **—** but then their eyes catch and he sees something extremely familiar in that face. 

" _Sam_ ," the man breathes, arms shaking at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them—he wants to reach out and touch, but he can't, not yet. His eyes dart down to the bare chest in front of him but otherwise they don't stray from his face, and the way he's looking at him is so intense it feels like it could break him.

And that's when Sam knows for sure, and his heart seems to stop beating entirely for several seconds.

"Lu—Lucifer...?" he finally manages to say, surprised that his voice isn't choked with how it feels like there's something stuck in his throat. Head swimming and trying to wrap itself around the fact that this is _reality_ (Is it reality? It better fucking be, or Sam will be eternally pissed at his mind for being so cruel as to make this up). 

All he seems to be able to do for now is nod and stare at him like he always used to do, like Sam is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. And Sam's eyes rake him over, taking in every bit of him as though he's a starving man (and if you want to put it like that, he really is)—Lucifer grew at just about the same rate, though he's an inch or so shorter now, and... he's considerably thicker. In muscle, that is. As well as facial hair.

As the shock melts away, Sam doesn't stop himself from propelling forward and hitting Lucifer so hard with his own body that it nearly knocks him down, but not quite, and wrapping his arms so tightly around Lucifer's back that they don't allow for airspace. And as soon as he does, strong arms—much stronger than he remembers—come around his back as well. There's a face pressing into his neck and fingertips digging into his shoulders, and Sam turns his face into Lucifer's hair and tries not to cry. 

"It's been _six years_ ," comes Lucifer's shaky voice against his collarbone, which only makes Sam hold tighter—and once he starts talking, he feels like he'll never stop.

"I looked for you, I _swear_ I did—my dad and brother found me and took me home and they wouldn't even let me say goodbye, _Hell_ , I fucking tried to open the car door and jump out and escape when we stopped for gas, but I couldn't, and I went back to Detroit but you weren't there, and _I thought you were dead—_ " _  
_

Which is when Lucifer lets go of Sam's back and practically shoves him away when he steps inside the apartment and pushes Sam in with him, grabbing hold of his face so firmly it's like he thinks Sam will fall to pieces if he doesn't, and crashes their lips together almost violently.

Violence is exactly what they need, though, and it's the only thing that makes sense right now with all the emotion running high—shock, confusion, and absolute, pure, _relief_. So Sam pulls the door shut with him as they stumble back inside and then shoves Lucifer up against it to give him the roughest, most desperate kiss of his life.

" _I missed you so fucking much_ ," Lucifer whispers into his mouth in between trembling kisses, and his rough grip turns to a caress as he simply _feels_ Sam's skin under his calloused hands. It's like a goddamn treasure, being able to feel him again, being able to tangle his fingers in Sam's hair and kiss him like this. To be able to kiss him at all.

" _Me too, oh_ God _, me too_...." Sam's attempt to not cry has already failed, but he doesn't care anymore because they're tears of relief because this can't _possibly_ be happening. His hands are at Lucifer's neck and he puts their foreheads together so he can see his eyes again and make sure this is even real. "God, Lucifer... you look like you aged twenty years."

"Yeah, well." Lucifer's voice cracks and he breathes a short laugh. "Prison does that to you."

"What— _prison_?"

Sam furrows his brow and suddenly becomes far too aware of everything, including how his towel is extremely close to falling off, and how he still has no idea how Lucifer even managed to find him. So before demanding an explanation, he (regretfully) separates himself from Lucifer and sits him down on the couch while he goes to get dressed.

"You'd been gone for a food months and I did something stupid," Lucifer explains when Sam returns, speaking slowly and taking in a deep breath. It still hurts to think about it, even though their waiting is over. "I was reckless, I mean. I didn't really care about anything anymore because I just couldn't handle the fact that you disappeared out of nowhere, and I got caught in the middle of assaulting someone for money and got arrested. They put me in prison for five years, and then I was in a halfway house for six months until they could deem me ' _safe to society_ '.... I spent my whole time in there thinking about you and how I would look for you once I got out."

"So—how _did_ you find me?" Sam asks, leaning forward and unconsciously fiddling with the collar on Lucifer's shirt.

"I remembered you saying that you lived in Lawrence, so I took a bus there as soon as I could and basically just went around showing people that picture of us and asking if they knew you. It wasn't even that hard, really—two days there and I already had someone telling me 'That's Winchester's boy, he's gone off to college now,' and they told me where your house was and everything. Your dad refused to say a word to me, but your brother was... sympathetic, I guess, and he told me where you were."

After all of this—everything that's happened over the past six years, the only thought running through Sam's mind now is _I can't fucking believe it._

They tell each other everything and more about the time in-between (which is what they suppose they'll refer to it with, now), but that's a bit later. Right now all Sam wants to do is move into Lucifer's lap and press his face into his neck and stay there for a long time. Just breathing him in and sliding his fingers along the muscle between Lucifer's neck and shoulder.

"I think we should move back to Detroit," Sam mutters after a while, at which Lucifer pauses the hand he's been stroking through his hair.

"Why?"

"Because... we built this city."

It takes a moment, but a grin breaks through Lucifer's face and he can't help but sing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just want you to know that while writing this, I cried so hard that I got a really bad headache and nearly threw up. So I hope you cried at least half as much.


End file.
